


Sketches in Q

by q_19



Category: Homeland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1865106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/q_19/pseuds/q_19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Sketches in C. Fill-in-the-blanks, missing/made up scenes. One for each episode of season 3. Quinn POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketches in Q

Author’s note: This is a sequel to Sketches in C but most of it will make sense even if you haven’t read it. 

\-------------------  
0301   
\-------------------

Command gives him ten minutes to break in to the guarded fortress and take out his target. Quinn gets off the phone and starts to move. He knows enough about the operation to understand that it’s all hinging on him now. And he has never been one to turn back from a tough assignment. 

Quinn sets the distraction, climbs the wall, sets off the explosion, dons his silencer and enters the residence in less than a minute. He sees movement coming towards him, drops whoever it is with a perfect shot. Same for the guard around the corner. Quinn is in his rhythm now, doing what he does best. 

He finds the office and picks the lock without difficulty, figuring he is about four minutes into his time. Quinn looks around the room for places to hide, fires four rounds into the cabinet behind the desk. He’s lucky his instincts were right as usual and his target comes tumbling out of the cabinet, clearly dead. Quinn takes the proof pic, is grabbing some of the stuff from the desk when he sees a light coming down the hall. Instinctively he fires one shot and hears the intruder drop. Quinn takes that as his cue to leave and makes his way out of the office. 

Quinn glances around the corner and his heart stops. The boy is lying there in a pool of blood, small and still. Quinn kneels down, feels for a pulse he knows he won’t find. His breath begins to quicken and he feels beads of sweat start to form. 

He fucked up. And now a kid is dead. An innocent. 

Quinn never fucks up. For a moment he doesn’t know what to do. He should have realized - no guard would have come down the hallway with a shining flashlight. It was asking to be shot. But he had been in a rush and didn’t take the time to check before shooting. Kill and get out, the words he lives by. Maybe not anymore. 

Quinn takes one more deep breath, acknowledges what he’s done. His mistake. Then he gets the fuck out of there, the same way he came in. 

\-------------------  
0302   
\-------------------

He is admitted into the secure ward, sees drab institutional furniture and medicated people. Quinn has to admit he’s a bit nervous - he’s been in a lot of dangerous situations but never surrounded by mental patients. It’s not quite the cuckoo’s nest but it’s not much better either. 

Quinn finds her in an bleak room, sitting on a dirty bed with one knee tucked up, looking defeated. He’s surprised by how much it hurts to see her like that, it’s not like Carrie to appear defenseless. Maybe he’s still weak from the fuck up with the kid in Venezuela. Fuck that, maybe he just needs to grow a set of balls.

“Shit, Carrie,” Quinn says because he can’t find any other words.

Carrie smiles sarcastically for a moment and opens her arms wide to show him the grandeur of her surroundings. 

“Have a seat,” she says. 

Quinn walks towards her, still unsure of what to say. 

“I didn’t know about this. I came as soon as I heard,” he explains, trying to appease the guilt that is rising in his gut. 

“Did you come to get me out?” Carrie asks immediately, with classic directness. 

And now it’s his turn to feel helpless. “I can’t,” he admits hoarsely.

Carrie covers her head with her arms and for a moment he wants to just grab her hand and take her out of there. He can enter a secure compound and kill a warlord in less than ten minutes, he can surely engineer an escape from a locked ward. Quinn tries to ignore the idiotic ideas popping into his mind and focus on his task. 

“Just... just, just leave,” she says, her tone flat and angry.

But he can’t. He has to at least make an attempt - try to get her to understand the danger she’s in. If he doesn’t and something happens to her... Hell even if he does and something happens to her. He’s not sure what he would do. He’s the kind of man who can kill a child. What else could he be capable of? 

“You can’t go around spilling Agency secrets. You know that,” Quinn says seriously as he sits down on the bed. Not that he thinks she will listen to him but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Carrie tucks herself tight, arms wrapped around her knees and gives him an irritated look that tells him she knows he’s right but is unwilling to admit it. 

“Saul’s panicked,” he continues.

Carrie smiles ironically at that. “About me,” she says, as if the idea is absurd. 

“About the CIA, if he even has a future,” Quinn replies, not sure why he is making it sound like he is on Saul’s side. Because he definitely isn’t. Not anymore. He had respect for Saul right up to the point of seeing him sell Carrie out in front of the entire world. But this, this shit? Whatever the fuck it was, it was not okay with him. 

“So he blames the explosion on me, that’s his plan to save the Agency?” Carrie retorts, and this time it does sound ridiculous and Quinn knows it. 

“It’s fucked up, I know,” he agrees. 

“Good,” she says emphatically, and he thinks maybe she is coming around, starting to trust him a little. 

“But it’s not going to get you out of here,” he continues

“No. No, my family will be at the hearing tomorrow and they will get me out,” she replies with angry confidence.

“Carrie, you have to...” Quinn tries again but Carrie interrupts before he can finish. 

“What? What do I have to do? Look where they put me. I don’t have to do anything,” she explodes. 

Quinn grits his teeth in frustration. He’d forgotten how infuriating it could be to try to get Carrie to hear him through her own volatile thoughts. But he has to at least tell her, even if she refuses to listen.

“You have to be careful. There are things that happened before the explosion that you’re not even aware of,” he explains. “People targeted. I’m worried you’re going to get yourself hurt.”

Quinn thinks he sounds sincere, he hopes so because he is being as truthful as he can be. Carrie’s situation has been eating at him from the moment he heard about it and he will not let her dig herself into an untenable predicament. He knows exactly what the CIA is capable of and he won’t let her be sacrificed for the so-called greater good.

Carrie is silent for a moment and Quinn thinks it’s possible he’s actually gotten through to her, past her hair trigger defense systems. She looks concerned finally, but when she speaks Quinn realizes he still hasn’t learned to read her at all. 

“He sent you here, didn’t he?” she says, accusation dripping from her voice.

“Who?” Quinn asks, confused. He had been so sure she finally understood he was here for her, here because he actually gave a shit. 

“Saul. He sent you to threaten me,” Carrie replies, her eyes digging into him.

“No, no. He did not send me,” he says, hoping his genuine surprise and innocence are coming through in his expression. 

But Carrie doesn’t listen, doesn’t care. 

“Just leave,” she demands. 

“Carrie, would you just listen?” Quinn tries again, knowing from past experience that it’s probably futile. But there isn’t a lot else he can fucking do. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” she screams in his face and he is all at once reminded that she is a mental patient, sometimes for good reason. 

But Quinn doesn’t let her outburst reflect in his expression, maintains a neutral look that does not betray his feelings. He will do whatever he needs to do, sit through as many accusations as it takes if he can just get her to be reasonable and listen to him for a moment. 

The orderly comes to check if everything is alright and when Quinn tries to tell him that everything is fine, Carrie outplays him by saying emphatically that he is leaving. And with that she deliberately looks away from him, refusing to even make eye contact until he has no choice but to get up and leave. Fucking Carrie, she really made him crazy sometimes.

Quinn forces himself to go, walks away from her, wanting all the while to just go back, grasp her by the shoulders and shake her until she listens to some sense. Or grab her in his arms until she loses that scared, trapped look. But he knows both those thoughts are equally impossible, that Carrie will kick him in the balls and elbow him in the throat before she allows either. And that thought at least brightens his mood for a second - as frail and exposed as she was, Carrie was still Carrie. 

Quinn makes a mental note to attend her hearing the next day; she needs all the help she can get. He knows she will probably try to kick him out. Or maybe just kick him. That was the thing - with Carrie you just never really knew. 

\-------------------  
0303   
\-------------------

The third time he tries to visit Quinn is again politely declined. This time, however, he has come prepared. If he can’t see her, he needs to at least find out how she is doing. 

Quinn visits the restroom before approaching the nursing station and by the time he is asking to see Carrie he can already see the smoke coming down the hallway. Predictably someone pulls the fire alarm and suddenly all personnel are on the move, shutting fire doors and making sure patients are in their rooms. Amongst all the commotion it’s a simple matter to snake his way into the nursing area and pull Carrie’s file.

He quickly takes photos of each page, suddenly realizing what he is doing. It could be said that his actions are a little drastic. But she’s been in there for nearly two weeks and he can’t get a single snippet of information from them. Everything is fucking confidential or unauthorized. 

Quinn puts the files back and makes for the emergency stairs. 

\-------------------

Quinn goes back to the hospital the next evening. He has a lot of time on his hands at the moment - he hasn’t been assigned anything since the clusterfuck in Caracas. So he’s been avoiding the office, hiding out because he feels pissed off and useless every time he sees Saul or Adal. 

It’s good to get his skills working on something he wants for a change. 

Quinn hangs around, keeping tabs on the nighttime cleaner until he goes on his break. It’s an easy piece of work to then slip a quick-acting sedative in the man’s coffee and wait until it starts to take effect. 

The janitor ends up in the staff area as he starts to become drowsy and Quinn delays until he sees the man completely lose consciousness. Then he quickly drags him out of sight, dons his newly acquired janitor’s outfit, complete with security clearance card and grabs the sleeping cleaner’s cart. 

Quinn pushes the cart up to the nursing station that guards the secure door and gives a shy smile when the young nurse on duty greets him. He explains he’s the new on-call cleaner, that the regular guy was feeling under the weather and the nurse smiles coyly, tells Quinn the ladies won’t mind having him around.

Quinn affects a quiet modesty, just stares blankly at the compliment and the nurse takes pity on him and buzzes him into the ward. He starts by putting on a good act of cleaning the common area until he is sure she is done watching him and then heads down the hallway containing the patients’ rooms. 

He double checks to make sure he has the right room and then easily picks the lock and slips in silently. 

Carrie is sleeping but stirs as soon as the door opens and Quinn’s not surprised to see her instincts kick in. He closes the distance between them in long strides and clamps his hand over her mouth before she can sound the alarm. 

She struggles against his grip and almost manages to break free before he can talk some understanding into her. 

“Carrie, Carrie. Stop. It’s me, Quinn,” he says. “I’m going to let you go, just don’t make any noise okay?”

Carrie stops thrashing around and he lets her go, taking the chance that she won’t call out for help. Thankfully she is still too breathless from struggling so instead she sits up to better glare at him. 

“You here to kill me Quinn?” she hisses spitefully when she’s finally caught her breath. 

Quinn sits next to her on the bed and tries to get a good look at her. Thankfully the moon is shining brightly through the barred windows and he can easily make out her pale, gaunt features.

“If I was here to kill you, you’d already be dead,” he replies calmly. “I’m just here to talk to you.” 

“In the middle of the fucking night?” Carrie asks. 

“They won’t let me in during the day,” he explains. “They keep saying you haven’t earned your visitor privileges or some shit like that.” 

Carrie huffs quietly. “Fucking bullshit,” she says. “They’re just keeping me locked away so I can’t make them look bad.”

She holds her head in her hands and he can tell she’s holding angry tears. When she looks back up her face is twisted in frustration.

“Honestly, I wish they did send you to kill me,” she mutters. “It’s better than this shit. I can’t fucking do this anymore, Quinn.” 

Quinn looks at her seriously, trying to judge the truth behind her words. She doesn’t look well, he can easily see her collarbone through her thin gown and her expression looks hard and bleak. 

“Bullshit, Carrie,” he says. “You’d never fucking give up.” 

At least he still knew how to get a rise out of her. 

“What the hell do you expect me to do?” she says angrily. “It’s not like I can just climb out the fucking window.” 

“I expect you to do whatever you have to do to get out of here,” he replies, wondering why they can’t ever have a nice, civil conversation. 

“They’re never going to let me out of here, Quinn. That’s the whole fucking point!” she says too loudly. 

Quinn puts his finger to his lips, and looks Carrie in her furious eyes.

“Well you don’t have to make it so easy on them either,” he says in a low voice. 

Carrie stares him down for a moment and he almost relishes the hatred in her glare. It’s the fire that fuels her, that makes her so interminable. 

“What do you mean?” Carrie asks when she’s done glaring and he can tell she’s finally calm enough to reason with. 

Quinn wonders how to say it, knows she will be pissed at him regardless of how he puts it.

“I read your records, Carrie. I can see your hands, your head,” he says, trying to hold back the emotion in his voice. “You’ve lost weight, you look like shit.” 

Carrie scrunches her face up in consternation, looks at her rough, bandaged knuckles as if she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. 

Quinn gently touches his thumb to the angry red mark on her forehead, brushes her hair aside for a better look. Carrie flinches slightly at his touch and looks away with a scowl but doesn’t stop him. 

“Fuck, Carrie,” he breathes. 

Carrie doesn’t meet his eyes, looks far off into the corner of the room. 

“You should see the other guy,” she mutters. “I’m fine.” 

Quinn looks at her sternly. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Carrie. You can’t go around hurting yourself,” he demands. 

“I can’t fucking well do anything else now can I?” she fires back, her eyes fierce.

He’s been holding back until then, using his well-practiced emotional shield to deflect the angst of seeing her caged like a rabid animal. But even the strongest walls have cracks and she is quickly creating a fissure in his fortifications. 

“Jesus Christ, Carrie. You, of all people, can fucking do anything. I’ve seen what you can do,” he explodes. “You can get yourself out of here. But not if you give up.” 

Carrie stares him in the eyes, her expression morphing between anger and frustration. 

“I couldn’t help it okay,” she shoots back. “You don’t know what it’s like in here.”

Quinn gives her his most serious expression, lightly grips her battered hand. “I don’t,” he agrees. “But I do know that you, Carrie, are fucking undeniable. You will save yourself.”

Carrie is still frowning at him, but not with the same intensity. There is some light in her eyes and he thinks he may have done the impossible and said the right thing.   
“Or what, Quinn? You’re going to kill the janitor and lecture me every night?” she finally says with just the hint of a smile in her voice. 

Quinn smirks, gives her hand a final squeeze. “You never know. I’ve been rethinking my future. And I have a lot of experience cleaning up messes,” he says seriously as he gets up to leave. 

Carrie raises her eyebrows and gives him a sardonic smile. “I’d give us two weeks tops before we set up a murder suicide pact,” she says. 

Quinn nods, cracks a smile of his own. She’s right, as usual. 

“Take care of yourself, Carrie,” he says seriously, a question in his eyes. 

Carrie looks at him, still defiant for a moment. But then she shrug-nods once. 

“I’ll do my best,” she says, with an equal mix of sarcasm and sincerity. 

Quinn smiles again at her cranky expression before making himself leave the room. He realizes he never got any admission from Carrie that she would actually try to take care of herself but somehow he still feels like he won. With Carrie, the barest victories are nearly impossible. He will take what he can get. 

\-------------------  
0304  
\-------------------

Adal finally calls him into the office after Quinn’s mostly been MIA for weeks. Without a mission and with no personal life to speak of, he has been doing a lot of thinking. And his thoughts have not exactly been sunshine and lollipops. More like dead kids and suicidal tendencies. Not that he was quite so worried about Carrie anymore - his concerted research attempts have indicated that she’s been playing the perfect little mental patient lately. Which is something at least - he wasn’t sure she had it in her to play nice. 

“Peter,” Adal says, after giving Quinn a disconcerting once-over. “Haven’t seen much of you lately.” 

“Hasn’t been anything for me to do,” Quinn replies with a shrug. 

Adal nods knowingly, as if he can see right into Quinn and pull his thoughts out through his eyes. 

“Well, there is something now,” he says. “I need you to pick someone up for me.” 

Quinn flinches internally, wonders where he is going to be sent, what life he is going to have to disrupt or destroy. 

“Who?” he asks, wondering why he isn’t being handed a file. 

“Carrie,” Adal says. “Some circuit court just sprung her from the looney bin and we need her under wraps.”

Quinn raises his eyebrows in surprise, hides the smile that tries to sneak into his expression. See, told you Carrie, he thinks. She really is fucking undeniable. 

“And what do you want me to do with her? Fuck her over again? Stick her back with the crazies to rot until you and Saul decide how to get rid of her?” Quinn asks, trying to reign in his sudden anger. 

Adal frowns, puts on his dont-fuck-with-me face. 

“Are you refusing the assignment?” he asks with menace in his tone. 

Quinn nods, pretends to ignore the hostility in the room. 

“You don’t need me for this job. Any grunt can pick her up. You just want to use me to lure her out, to put me on your side,” he says. “I won’t do that to her.” 

Adal growls and a touch of real anger sneaks through his usually impassive expression. 

“What the fuck is going on with you, Peter?” he asks. “You fucked up the last assignment, didn’t follow through with the one before that and now you’re dicking us around? Refusing assignments? There’s no room for a lone wolf around here. You know that.” 

Quinn raises his eyebrows, refuses to be baited. 

“If that’s what you want to call it. I’d rather think of it as having respect for the people I work with,” he replies testily. “You trained me, you run me. This is not my type of op. And I won’t betray her - she doesn’t deserve any of this shit.”

Adal stares at him with ice in his eyes. 

“Carrie is a fucking liability. You aren’t doing her any favours by leaving her out there to fuck herself and all of us over,” he states coldly. 

“You know, for some reason I don’t believe you’re interested in what’s good for Carrie,” Quinn shoots back. “Ever consider she’s only willing to fuck you over cause she was royally fucked over herself?” 

Adal shakes his head, gives his most disapproving glare. “I never thought I’d see this shit from you, Peter. You were one of my best. You can have any piece of ass you want but you’re wasting your life, your career, on a crazy bitch, a fucking mental patient that doesn’t give a shit about you.”

Quinn stands with fists clenched and head about to erupt. 

“If that’s all, then I have a life to waste,” he says evenly, unwilling to let his temper show. If he let Adal know how much he pissing him off, he would use it against him forever. 

Quinn can feel Adal’s eyes still firing daggers at him as he leaves and he wonders if he can possibly find Carrie before they get to her. Knowing Carrie, it is unlikely - she is meticulous in her spycraft and would never let herself get trapped if she suspects it’s coming. She probably wouldn’t even trust him if he approached her anyways. Regardless, Quinn realizes he now he will be spending the day fruitlessly searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found. 

\-------------------  
0305   
\-------------------

Quinn has been sitting watching her place for hours, with taut nerves and fraying thoughts. By now Saul must have called her, told her the surveillance was off, told her that she may have fucked up the whole operation by doing the fool’s errand for Brody’s wife. Quinn’s not sure if Carrie blew her cover with the yoga play but he has to agree with Saul that it was a big fucking risk for her to take. On the other, it is exactly the kind of shit that makes her who she is. Everything she went through for this operation, possibly squandered on a personal whim. He can’t even begin to imagine how she must feel right now, wondering if it was all for nothing. 

Carrie. Quinn still can’t believe she was in on it the whole time. Because he knows her distress was real. He had seen her, seen the desperation. They had left her in the shitty county mental hospital to rot on the slim hope that someone would approach her. And what if this someone never showed up? How long would they have left her there? 

Quinn raises the binoculars to his eyes, trying to imagine what she is doing behind the curtains until the lights go out and then he tries to stop imagining. It is a little weird to be stalking her, even if she knows he’s doing it. 

Unable to resist, he picks up the phone and dials. 

“Yes?” she answers. 

“It’s Quinn,” he replies.

“I know. Is the surveillance back?” she asks anxiously. 

“No,” he answers. 

Carrie doesn’t respond and he isn’t quite sure what to say. Everything he wants to say sounds ridiculous. 

“You okay?” he finally asks because it is really what he wants to know. 

“Not really,” she admits and he hears a slight waver in her voice. “Where are you?” 

“About a hundred yards away,” he answers, wishing he was about ninety yards closer.

Carrie pauses, breathes in.

“I’m not sure I like being watched over by you, Quinn,” she says, almost echoing his own thoughts. 

Quinn’s not sure what she means by that, tries not to take it as an insult. 

“I’m at a safe distance,” he finally mutters ambiguously. 

“Anyways, according to Saul you’re wasting your time. I blew it,” she says, suddenly sounding small and dejected. 

“You don’t know that,” he replies. 

“You were there. Did I get made?” she asks. 

“I don’t know,” Quinn answers truthfully. It was hard to say and he doesn’t want to dump anything else on her. 

“It was always a fucking longshot,” Carrie mutters, some anger pushing through in her voice. 

“Night, Quinn,” she adds just before hanging up. 

And just like that he is alone again with his thoughts. She is suffering, doubting herself and Quinn knows he can’t do anything for her except sit there and watch over her. Make sure she’s safe. He is suddenly very glad that Saul came to him with this assignment. He wouldn’t want anyone else to be trusted with the job. 

Quinn is hyper-focused on the video, looking for anything suspicious, no matter how small. But the video doesn’t show him enough and he is hampered by his distance from Carrie’s place. Saul was nervous, acting twitchy, and wouldn’t let him sit any closer even though Quinn had argued that Carrie’s safety was at risk. Quinn frowned. He still couldn’t believe the shit Saul had put her though, what she had put herself through. And now Saul is too concerned about blowing her cover to let him do his job properly. 

It is almost enough to make him long for the days of simple wet work. Kill and get out. No attachments. 

How the fuck did he get so firmly attached to this shit? Quinn is wondering that a lot these days. And he doesn’t like the answer he keeps coming to. 

Carrie. 

Quinn shakes his head, clears his thoughts. Thinks maybe he would like a mental wipe, walk away, be a normal person. Instead of the self-appointed protector of a reckless CIA agent who has no interest in being protected. 

He scans the video feeds again and sees something new. It could be the watch coming back on, he thinks. 

Quinn has to get closer. He picks up the phone to Saul, thinking of his confrontation with Carrie earlier in her parking garage. She had actually admitted to appreciating his efforts, to being glad he has her back. He can’t fuck this up now. 

“I think the watch is back on,” he says when Saul picks up. 

“What do you see?” Saul asks. 

“I’m not sure. I put a goPro camera on the street but it’s not showing me anything,” he explains. “I’ve got to get closer.” 

Saul tells him to stay put and Quinn grunts in frustration. Tries to avoid thinking of the myriad of terrible things that could be happening to Carrie at that very moment. 

He picks up the nightvision binoculars, sees a man start walking away from Carrie’s place. 

“Any sign of Carrie?” Saul asks. 

“No, there’s no sign of Carrie. I’m too fucking far away,” Quinn answers, as civilly as he can manage. It is hard to not hate Saul for his part in the play, for breaking her, for offering her up to the highest bidder. It’s all too obvious his concern for the op precedes any concern he has for Carrie. 

“No, keep your distance. That’s an order,” Saul replies. 

Quinn feels his head start to pressurize. He’s always been good with orders but this is the end of the line. He hears a vehicle start and knows he has to move. 

“I’m getting closer,” he says, taking his earpiece off. Fuck Saul. 

Quinn approaches the glass door and draws a sharp breath. It is open. He steps inside and swears to himself - it’s already pretty fucking obvious he’s too late. Quinn’s heart rate rises exponentially and he has to tell himself to breathe slowly. On the off chance Carrie is still there he needs to be calm and ready. 

He takes a deep breath and carefully searches through the house. Finally, when it is clear that she’s gone, Quinn puts his weapon away and fights the rising panic he is feeling. He looks at her clothes and her phone on the floor and curses himself for not moving in earlier, when he first felt that something was happening. He tries his hardest to resist thinking about what happened here, of what she must have felt as they forced her to undress. Quinn swallows painfully, his throat suddenly very tight. He lost her. She trusted him to look out for her and she got snatched from right under his nose. 

Quinn pulls his phone out, reluctantly makes the call. 

“Yeah, I’m inside. She’s gone,” he says, sounding more calm than he feels. “They left her clothes, broke her phone. I guess they got her SIM. We lost her.” 

“But we know who’s got her,” Saul responds, without a hint of worry in his voice. “We’re back in business.” 

“She’s on her own, Saul,” Quinn breathes roughly. He wonders where she is right now, what they are doing to her and his heart constricts painfully. He doesn’t care about Javadi, about the fucking operation. He was supposed to watch her back and he let her down. He let himself down. What has happened to him lately? He has never been anything than perfect at his job. And of all the things to fuck up on, this was the one thing he actually cared about. 

“She’s always been on her own,” Saul answers confidently. And Quinn can see that he is right - from what he knows of her, Carrie’s always been the lone wolf, beating to her own drum. But he still wants to reach through the phone and throttle Saul for being so flippant about her life. Fucking Saul. He’s so pleased the operation wasn’t blown that he doesn’t appear to give a flying fuck about Carrie’s situation.

Quinn hangs up and grits his teeth until his jaw hurts. Tries to tell himself it wasn’t his fault, that Saul’s orders are to blame but he knows he should have trusted his instincts, went in when his internal alarm sounded. It is the little boy all over again, just another fuck up. And if his fuck up ends up costing Carrie her life it will be the last mistake he ever makes. 

\-------------------  
0306  
\-------------------

The car ride back to the safehouse is silent. He lets Carrie drive on the pretext of guarding Javadi but really Quinn just isn’t sure he should be driving. He’s done some bad shit in his life, seen some even worse shit. But he knows the picture of Javadi with the broken bottle, blood everywhere will be one that he remembers forever. 

He glances at Carrie, who looks pissed off. Quinn thinks how easily it could have been her. She’d been alone at Javadi’s for hours, if she’d been made from the start there’s no telling what could have happened. It’s hard to push back the guilt for losing her, even though she came out okay. He was supposed to be watching her back and he fucked up. 

They pull up at the safehouse, lead Javadi in to the interrogation room and cuff him to the chair. Carrie stalks outside afterwards as Quinn sits down in the command room and sighs. 

Quinn watches her go, wonders where her head is at. She’s already put so much into the mission and yet it’s only just starting. Whatever they do with Javadi, it will involve Carrie and more CIA bullshit. More covert ops and killing “enemies” and tit for tat, you kill us, we kill you. And what if it ends with a bullet in her brain? 

“This is just the fucking beginning,” he mutters to no one in particular. 

Quinn would like to tell her he’s sorry for losing her earlier. He was going to when he picked her up but then she had completely caught him by surprise by outing him on the Brody mission. Asked him why he hadn’t done it. And he had actually admitted the truth. 

Quinn looks outside and she is sitting on the steps. He fills two cups with coffee and follows, taking a seat next to her. 

“You okay?” he asks. It seems like he’s been asking Carrie this question a lot lately. And at least she is generally honest with her answers. 

“I don’t know what I am,” she replies, with a little shake of her head. Quinn understands what she means. He doesn’t know what he is anymore either. 

He wonders if he should tell her that, then wonders when the fuck he started wanting to talk about his feelings. 

Quinn is still looking at her, trying to think of something to say that won’t make him sound like either a pansy or an asshole when Saul walks by to get them. 

They stand up in unison and follow Saul in. Quinn puts his newly acquired pansy ass feelings away before entering the interrogation room. No more fuck ups, he tells himself. He will not let anything happen to her. 

\-------------------  
0307  
\-------------------

He sits waiting, staring down at the table. There is a lot going on in Quinn’s head, the double murders especially vivid considering his setting. 

The detectives come in and sit down. 

“You Peter Quinn?” asks one of them, the detective in charge. Typical cop build, tall and a bit thick around the waist, mustache and cheap tie. 

Quinn pauses for a moment before answering. “Yeah,” he finally says. 

“What, that’s a difficult question?” the cop asks. 

“No,” Quinn replies. 

The cop replies, saying that Carrie had promised them some candor on his part. 

Quinn mentally exhales and tries to explain. “Peter Quinn is... my legal name,” he finally says, knowing full well how inane it must sound to the cops. He isn’t trying to make it sound spy vs fucking spy but there’s only so much he can say.

The cop goes over the specifics of the murders, the identities of the victims and their relationships to Javadi, asks if this information is significant. 

“Right,” Quinn agrees. 

“Those are some terse responses,” the cop replies as Quinn wonders where they are going with the interview. 

“Look, can we just get on with this?” he asks, just wanting to be done with the situation and out of the house. But the cop gets pissed, asks him how they are not getting ‘on with it’.

“My colleague led me to believe you’re after a confession,” Quinn replies. 

The cop says they’re not just looking for a confession, that they are trying to find out what happened and Quinn tells them it’s not possible. 

“Yeah, that’s what she said. She said all I need to know is it’s national security. This is. This,” the cop says, waving his arms to indicate the murder scene. Quinn knows the cop is right. It is ridiculous, insane. 

“Look, I know you think I’m just some dick, jacking you up just because I can. Because you were unlucky enough to get yourself photographed. And maybe that’s true, I don’t know. But actually, I’m just trying to understand this shit that you people do. This shit that we’re a party to because we pay taxes. This shit,” the cop explains, apparently at a loss for words. And Quinn can’t blame him - he’s been trying to understand the same thing. 

But there’s nothing he can say, he’s only there to confess, to make the problem go away so Carrie can get Javadi on a plane and keep the endless cycle going. Quinn waits until the cop finally speaks again. 

“So you killed the daughter,” the cop asks. 

Quinn looks down, finds that his breath is a bit shallow. His heart rate is up and he feels his skin begin to get clammy. 

“Yes,” he says softly. 

“With?” 

“Walther P22,” Quinn says automatically.

“What about the mother, same weapon?” the cop asks, trying to trip him up. 

“No, that was with a bottle,” he replies, trying not to let the pain of the memory seep into his voice. 

The cop looks at him cooly, disdain in his eyes. “Plum wine,” he says in disgust. “For national security. You fucking people. Have you ever done anything but make things worse?”

Quinn looks away, avoids eye contact because he’s no longer sure of the answer to that question. Thankfully his so-called confession is finally enough for the cops and they let him go without any more diatribes on the bullshit of his profession. 

He walks out the door, head down, mind still teeming with guilt and doubt. When he looks up he’s surprised and pleased to see Carrie waiting for him. 

“How did it go?” she asks.

“They’re standing down,” he replies. 

“So it went well,” she says.

Quinn’s not sure that’s how he would put it. He didn’t exactly feel well about what had happened. 

“What do they say? Confession is good for the soul?” he asks, again wondering when he started saying shit like that. 

“Only you didn’t do it,” Carrie replies, like that is all that matters. But he knows she knows exactly what he’s talking about, she just tries her best to forget all the casualties of their never-ending war. It’s what they all do. 

“I know. But it made me feel better,” he admits. “Wrong crime, right guy, I guess.” 

For some reason he feels compelled to say these things to Carrie. Maybe because she of all people should understand the collateral damage of everything that they do. 

“You know what else I’ve realized. Just how through I am with... this, the CIA. I just cannot believe it anymore,” he confesses, shaking his head. 

“Believe what?” Carrie asks.

“That anything justifies the damage we do,” he replies honestly. It is too much and he can no longer see the endgame, the purpose of any of it. 

Carrie shakes her head, sighs like maybe she is with him on what he is saying. But when she speaks, Quinn realizes he’s misread her yet again. Clearly she has come here to tell him something, not to hear his philosophical musings on his life. Not to say he finds Carrie unsympathetic but her needs certainly trump the needs of those around her. And right now she seems to need something from him. 

“Well, you can’t quit yet,” she says emphatically. “Javadi’s out over the Atlantic heading home and he told me something before he left. About the Langley bomber.” 

“You mean Brody,” Quinn replies because he still doesn’t quite believe what she told him earlier. That Brody did not plant the bomb. He thinks it’s possible. But Carrie is a biased source. 

“No, that’s just it, it’s not him. And I can prove it now but... I need your help,” Carrie says, sounding just a touch nervous. Quinn wonders if it’s because she still doesn’t trust him or she’s just not used to asking. 

It is not every day that Carrie Mathison asks him directly for his help. Of course she has to pick the moment in which he has the most doubt about the game they are playing, about his role in the never-ending cycle of death. When he is so tired of the shit that he isn’t sure he can keep going. 

“Quinn?” she asks again, and he knows his fate is sealed. After everything Carrie’s been through, she never once asked for his help. And of course it’s for Brody. He is pretty sure that saving Brody and clearing his name has been her only motivation in all of the craziness. But, regardless, Quinn wasn’t going to fuck this up - he will help her do whatever she needs to do, no matter what it costs him. 

He looks her in the eyes and tells her what she needs to hear. 

“Sure, Carrie. Whatever you need,” he says. 

Quinn turns to get in his car, needs to get away from the crime scene, away from his doubts. Away from the effect Carrie is having on him lately. He wonders when he let her grab him by the nuts, if it was the same time he started fucking up on the job. Quinn promises himself there will be no more fuck ups. No more fuck ups and then when she’s out of danger he will extract his balls and walk away from all this shit. 

\-------------------  
0308   
\-------------------

He’s on the roof on the scope when he hears Carrie’s voice on his earpiece. 

“Shit, he’s got a weapon,” she reports.

“What?” Adal asks.

“Now he’s silencing it,” she adds. “Jesus, are you seeing this? He’s got a gun.” 

Carrie is sounding frantic but Quinn knows command won’t react until they are are sure. And he knows how Adal feels about Carrie. 

“Bravo can you confirm?” Scott asks. But Quinn doesn’t have the angle from his position and can’t get eyes on the weapon.

“Negative, my view is obscured,” he replies, straining to see so he can back her up.

“He’s not exfiltrating the bomber, he’s taking him out,” Carrie says rapidly and Quinn can hear her escalating by the second. 

“You don’t know that, Carrie” Scott replies condescendingly.

“Why else would he have a silencer?” she retorts. 

And of course it turns out Carrie is right. As Franklin leaves the vehicle Quinn gets a clear view of the silenced gun. “She’s right Scott, I make the weapon,” he says from his rooftop position. 

“I’m telling you, Franklin’s going to kill that guy,” she continues, anxiety high in her voice. Quinn mentally tells her to calm down, knowing psychic messages will have about as much use as verbal ones. 

Adal says that the plan was for Franklin to get the guy out of the country, doesn’t sound concerned in the least about the possibility of the bomber getting assassinated. 

“Maybe Bennett changed his mind,” Carrie responds.

“Either way, our priority is to keep Franklin in play,” Adal commands.

“So we just let him kill the bomber?” Carrie asks frantically. Quinn tells himself to stay calm, that getting caught up in Carrie’s emotions will not help the situation. But he knows what her priorities are, that they don’t necessarily match those of Adal and command. 

“If necessary, yes,” Adal responds, like Quinn predicts. 

Carrie tries to reason with him one more time, still just managing to stay in control. “That wasn’t the deal, the bomber’s the only way to prove that Brody’s innocent.” 

“And stopping Franklin now would blow your cover,” Adal replies predictably. “And Javadi’s, back in Tehran. You get that right? Until Franklin is clear I want all teams to stand down.” Of course she gets it, Quinn thinks. She just doesn’t give a fuck. She is so close to her endgame, her ultimate goal. The goal he promised to help with. So now he is stuck between Carrie’s mission and command’s orders. And as much as he wants to play the hero for her, he knows Adal is right - if they kill Franklin, Carrie will be made and the entire op will be over. Even more to the point, Carrie will likely be targeted, the next on Bennett’s kill list. 

Which means he has to stand down despite his own reservations. And now there is no telling what Carrie will do. It’s clear she won’t back down and Quinn’s gut begins to churn as he considers what may happen.

He sees Carrie exit the van and start making her way to the motel. Quinn swears to himself, hears Adal call her name. But of course she appears to not hear them at all. 

“Carrie, what the fuck are you doing?” Quinn asks emphatically, as if anyone can stop her when her mind is set. It’s the first thing he learned about her - Carrie will do exactly she wants to do. Possibly her most absolutely infuriating trait. 

Adal either hasn’t learned this lesson or just wants to hear himself yell. He commands her to go back to the van but Carrie keeps walking, her stride determined and unrelenting. Quinn wonders if she has a plan at all or is just going to make things up as she goes along. Which really doesn’t fucking matter because he knows for a fact that she won’t stop and suddenly he knows exactly how this is going to play out. Quinn’s heart freezes, his sphincter recoils. 

“Saul promised me this guy alive,” Carrie says.

“Saul’s not calling the shots here,” Adal responds.

“He promised me, goddammit. Get him on the phone,” she demands, even though she must know it’s too late for that.

Adal confirms. “There’s no time. Turn around,” he orders. “Carrie, turn around now or we will stop you.”

To her credit, she doesn’t even flinch and keeps on walking towards the motel. Even when Adal gives her the last warning. 

Quinn tells her to listen to the man, knowing exactly how futile his words are. They are going to have to use force. He breathes deeply, readies himself for a moment that may define his existence. Quinn goes back to his mental training, forcing himself to breathe in a slow and steady manner, calming his resting heart rate as he waits for the order. It’s game 7, overtime. He has one chance to make the shot of his life. 

The next words are from Scott. “Bravo, I am authorizing force, take the shot. I repeat, take the shot,” he says. 

“Let me,” Quinn says, taking the sniper rifle and peering through the scope.

“Carrie, this is Quinn, break away,” he says, anxiously. He knows she won’t, that she can’t. But he has to try.

“Sorry, I can’t,” she answers like he knows she will. 

“You’re fucking us, Carrie. Months of work. Your work,” Quinn tries. But Carrie is clearly running on pure emotion and adrenaline and no reason will sneak through.

“I don’t care,” she answers, never breaking her stride. He knows she knows he will have to do it. Of course she doesn’t give a shit about how that might make him feel. 

“Carrie, I will take the shot,” Quinn says. He is losing his window of opportunity, cutting it very close even though he knows she won’t stop. Carrie starts running, knowing she is about to make it.  
“Window’s closing, for Christ sake,” he hears Adal say, echoing his own thoughts. 

Quinn takes one more deep breath in, re-checks his aim. He’s waited so long he’s almost lost the shot but he knows he won’t miss. He will not fuck this up. 

He fires and she yells out once before dropping to the ground. 

For a second Quinn is sure his heart has stopped. He thinks he made the shot clean, through her bicep, hopefully without hitting the artery. But there seems to be a shit tonne of blood pooling up around her and doubt begins to creep in. It is possibly the worst torture he has ever known waiting quietly for Franklin to enter the motel room, not knowing what kind of damage he has done. Not knowing if she’s going to be okay. 

It probably takes Franklin less than a minute to shoot the bomber and go into the motel room to deal with the evidence but it feels like a fucking eternity to Quinn. Finally the door to the room closes.

“He’s in, Franklin is inside,” Quinn says frantically. “Pick her up for god’s sake.”

He hands off the rifle and runs. Takes the stairs seven at at time, nearly injures himself when he misjudges a landing.

They’ve almost got her in the truck when he finally makes it down to the street. 

“What was the delay?” Adal asks nastily.

“I stopped her didn’t I,” Quinn replies.

“Go with her, I’ll watch Franklin,” Adal says, disdain in his tone.

As if he needs fucking Adal’s orders to go with her - Quinn leaps into the back of the van and starts wrapping a bandage around her arm. He tries to ignore how much blood seems to be draining from Carrie. She is obviously in agony - Quinn remembers the feeling well. He tries to forget he’s the cause of her pain.

“Hospital’s on line,” Scott says. 

“Tell them we have a gunshot wound to the upper left bicep. Significant bleeding, might have clipped an artery,” Quinn says, trying his best to sound clinical. He has to stay focused, make sure she is okay.

Carrie is breathing rapidly, arches her back in pain.  
“Hold on, you’re going to be alright,” he says with only a touch of anxiety in his voice. 

Carrie screams, “Goddammit. Fuck!” she hollers.

But typical Carrie, she is not content to just lay there bleeding. 

“Quinn, is the bomber dead?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he replies, hoping she knows he feels for her, knows what it meant.

“Fuck!” she yells again. “Something’s going on.”

“Yeah, you got shot,” he says stupidly, trying to get her to settle down. 

“Yeah, no shit you shot me,” Carrie spits. Quinn mentally thanks her for the reminder, tries to determine exactly how upset she is about it. Carrie almost swears at the pain again but catches herself. “No I mean something is going on, none of this, none of this makes sense. 

“Just breathe okay, deep breaths, come on,” he says, hoping against reason she will listen just this once. 

Amazingly it is enough to calm her down, stop her from yelling. She is quiet for a moment then looks up at him.

“Come here,’ she gasps. “Come closer.” 

Quinn leans in and Carrie manages to get one more question out. 

“Where the fuck is Saul?” she asks before her face once contorts in pain.

Of course she is right. This is Saul’s operation and he is MIA at a critical moment. He nods to let her know he hears her, understands what she’s saying. 

“I don’t know, Carrie,” he replies. “But I’ll try to find out for you if you calm down.” 

She seems to stop fighting the pain then, closes her eyes and grinds her teeth together. For a moment her body seizes in a convulsion and Quinn puts his hand on her ribs to hold her down, hold her together. 

“Carrie. Carrie!,” he yells, unsure if she can hear him. “Carrie! Breathe, calm down. We’ll be at the hospital in less than five minutes and they’ll get you something for the pain. You’re going to be okay, just hold on.” 

She doesn’t respond and he grabs her hand, ignoring the fact that he is suddenly covered in cold sweat. “You’re going to be okay, Carrie. Keep breathing, we are almost there,” he says inanely, just to say something.

Carrie gives his hand a squeeze and his racing heart beat takes a step back. She’s in pain but she will be okay. Whether she will forgive him is a question for the future. He won’t be surprised if she shoots him sometime to even the score. But for the moment it’s enough to know that he didn’t fuck it up when it really counted, that Carrie will be alright. 

\-------------------  
0309   
\-------------------

It’s like deja vu all over again. Except with burly guards instead of bitchy psychiatric nurses. 

Quinn approaches anyways, knowing full well he will be denied. Maybe he can get a glance inside or somehow squeeze a note through to her. 

He grimaces sardonically at the thought. Passing notes like a lovelorn teenager. It’s something that was never in his genetic makeup. Well, until now, apparently. 

“How’s she doing in there?” Quinn asks, hoping he sounds authoritative enough to demand an answer. 

The guards don’t answer, don’t move, don’t even acknowledge his presence. It’s like they are the fucking royal guards in London or something. He certainly isn’t going to get anything past their stern watch. 

Quinn frowns, tries to think clearly. Thankfully he already look at her chart while she was in surgery, before the guards showed up and cut him off from any chance of seeing her. But spying on her records only half-sated his anxiety about the damage he had done. And then there was that other thing. 

He has to admit his mind had exploded for more than a moment. Thoughts of everything she has been through, the stress, the pain. And all the while silently dealing with all the physical and emotional bullshit of being pregnant with the offspring of the accused terrorist and mass murderer she is in love with. It is times like that Quinn regrets his decision at the cabin, thinks of how many problems he could have prevented. But he always comes back to the knowledge that he could never have done that to her. At least he gave her the chance. 

Quinn finds some paper and a pen but no words. He looks at the blank page, wonders why he can’t just capture the turmoil of his thoughts and emotions like a soundbite. They can record everything: audio, video, ECG, EEG, fucking galvanic skin response. But not the feeling he is carrying around in the pit of his stomach. Then again, he’s not sure he wants her to know the full depth of his feelings at the moment. She’d probably just stomp all over them in a Carrie fit. 

He abandons the paper, unable to think of anything to write that wouldn’t piss her off more. Sorry I shot you, I really didn’t want to but you were about to fuck us all over, yourself included. Oh and I spied on your chart and I know your secret now so let’s talk about you stepping back from this shitshow that is just getting started. 

For a moment Quinn imagines the look on her face if she were to read that note and he thinks it’s at least preferable to telling her in person. At least she wouldn’t have the opportunity to punch him if he went with the note. 

But Quinn is nothing if not honourable and patient. Maybe he hasn’t always been a stand-up guy but he is making himself be that person for her, regardless of whether she wants it or not. So he will wait, knowing that Carrie will somehow get herself out of the hospital and back on the job even after her blatant disobedience at the motel. He will wait until he sees her again and make her talk to him, possible punches and all. 

\-------------------  
0310   
\-------------------

The air in the command room is constrictive, no one seems to be breathing as they wait to see if Alpha team will respond. Carrie is a live wire, looking quickly between the screen and Scott. Quinn stops pacing, tries not to stare at her, tries not to go back to their conversation in the elevator. It is too fucked up. She has too much riding on this he can barely stand it. He can’t even begin to imagine how she feels right now. 

Bravo team radios in that Alpha hit either a IUD or a mine and Quinn sees the quiver in her chin, the gloss in her eyes. He waits for her to lose it, wonders if it will be up to him to deal with her, wonders what the fuck he could possibly say.

Carrie holds it together though and is right back in form as soon as the Iraqi patrol turns and the president’s Chief of Staff gets on the line. Quinn watches as the Chief of Staff shares his solution to the problem and knows he is about to get an earful.

“And if they’re not dead?” Saul asks.

“He doesn’t care whether they’re dead or alive. All he fucking gives a shit about is covering his own ass!” Carrie explodes. 

Saul tells her to bite her lip and she stalks away, steaming. 

Quinn feels a release of relief when Saul sticks by his men, tells the Chief of Staff it’s a no on the missile strike. He cannot imagine the scene that would have happened had Saul agreed to the plan.

Carrie quickly comes back to watch as they detect movement in the vehicle, stares at the screen as if trying to determine if the movement is Brody. Then when they get confirmation that both Brody and Azizi are alive, Carrie flashes him the most genuine smile for just a moment before she pulls it back again. Quinn is sure he hasn’t seen that smile since he was spying on her and Brody at the cabin. 

But pretty much everything that could have gone wrong with the operation has already gone wrong and once the fire fight starts and the Iraqis start bringing in support there is little hope for any measure of success. Saul stalks off after aborting the mission and handing control over to the general, both Lockhart and Carrie trying in vain to soothe his obvious disappointment. Quinn is surprised he isn’t staying to see it through, just walking away before the results are in.

When Brody refuses to fall back with the rest of the squad Quinn sees the electric anxiety start to build in Carrie. When it becomes clear that Brody is not changing his mind she is back to live wire mode and he is surprised she manages to sound so calm when she asks to talk to Brody. 

Before the general can say no, Quinn steps forward and passes her his earpiece. 

“If anyone can talk Brody down off a ledge, she can,” he says firmly. 

Lockhart and Pfister exchange glances and Carrie gives him a brief look of gratitude. The general gives an unsure okay and Carrie puts the headpiece on. 

“Brody? Brody? Brody can you hear me?” Carrie asks anxiously into the mike. “Hey Brody!”

They finally hear Brody respond. “They’re trying to abort the mission Carrie,” he yells. 

“I know,” she says, suddenly calm. 

“Well tell them to go fuck themselves!” he finishes. 

“No, listen to me,” Carrie demands. “You can’t do this by yourself.” 

But Brody will not be convinced. He says he’s three hundred yards from the border, that he can make it.

“You cross into Iran now and you will be completely on your own,” she says, still managing a facade of calm. But Quinn can see she is starting to unravel. 

Brody argues there doesn’t seem to be many options. 

Carrie counters that he should fall back, regroup, try again. 

But by this point it is clear that Brody is pulling a Carrie. Going solo, doing what he needs to do in the moment. If the situation wasn’t so fucked up Quinn would find some satisfaction in someone doing to Carrie exactly what she does to everyone else. Instead he is tensely aware of exactly how fucked up the situation is, of everyone listening in on something so personal, of what Carrie has riding on this mission. 

Brody says it’s not going to happen. 

“You don’t know that,” she shouts desperately. “Now stop and think this through. You have no sanction, no support on the ground, and no extraction plan. You will die over there.”

“No I won’t,” Brody argues back, playing his Carrie role perfectly. “And you wanna know why? Cause you’re going to get me home!” 

“NO. Don’t say that. Do not put that on me. It’s a fantasy,” she argues. Quinn is a bit fascinated that she can be so logical in dealing with Brody when she never listens to reason herself. He looks at her, thinks back to the night at the motel. Him trying to reason with her and Carrie making him stop her. He wouldn’t wish this on anyone though, it is painful just to watch. 

“You’ll find a way. I have faith,” Brody answers. “That’s all. Out.” 

“Brody. Brody!” she shouts into the mike. But clearly he’s out. 

“FUCK,” Carrie yells, pulls her hand through her hair. 

It’s relatively quiet for a moment as everyone strains to see what’s happening on the screens and then they call for the Hellfire missiles. 

Quinn looks at Carrie and catches her frantic eyes for a moment before they watch the missiles hit the Iraqis. There is no movement for a what seems like forever. Then suddenly the image on the screen brightens with new figures and big lights. 

“What is that?” Carrie asks. 

“They’re surrounded,” comes the unhelpful reply.

“Who by?” Quinn demands. 

But there aren’t any answers, at least not right away. They stand and watch the screen in silence, waiting for any intel to show up from either Iraq or Iran. 

He is standing close to Carrie when the report finally comes in from Iran saying they have picked up two prisoners. Her energy has taken over his own and Quinn feels buzzed on adrenaline. When they confirm one hundred percent it’s the Iranians and not the Iraqis Carrie seems stunned. 

“Jesus,” she says with a gasp, blinking in disbelief. Quinn looks at her, unsure what to feel. He wants to be happy for her because it’s exactly what she wants. But he knows it will just dig her in, that she will go to Iran, that next time it will be Carrie on a suicide mission, unwilling to listen to reason. 

Still, when Carrie looks up and smiles nervously he does his best to be genuine in his smile back. It is all they could have hoped for, operations-wise and Carrie still has a chance. Quinn can’t believe he’s rooting for Brody, after all the fucked up shit he pulled on Carrie, after all she’s been through with his flip-flopping terrorist bullshit.

But who’s he to judge when it comes to love? This is what she needs and Quinn promised to do whatever he could for her. He just tries not to think about the possibility of her getting killed in Iran, doing something stupid for Brody. He hopes she knows he’ll miss her, will worry like an old maid. 

\-------------------  
0311  
\-------------------

Saul starts the meeting by informing them there is movement in Tehran, that the op would be over by the next morning, local time. He details the location, the weapon, the assassin, the target. Danesh Akbari, ranking officer of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard and a notorious security freak. 

“How does he get past the guards?” Quinn asks. 

“He doesn’t. The target comes to him,” Saul replies confidently. “We’re expecting a personal encounter initiated by Akbari.” 

Saul continues with the extraction plan, including the motorcycle bomb that is supposed to give Brody the chance to stab Akbari with the cyanide needle and escape. In a perfect world he then gets picked up by the Mossad agents and delivered to a safe house. 

Quinn sees some possibility in the plan, understands what a coup it would be to get rid of Akbari. But there is a part of him that can’t see the point in any of this anymore. Of planting a traumatized terrorist to assassinate an enemy officer. Of putting Brody in play and sending Carrie to mind him with no back up other than two guys they don’t even know. For the millionth time that day Quinn wishes he were there, wants to be close enough to grab her and throw her on a plane if things get too fucked up. 

Saul asks for comments but no one speaks up. It is a lot to digest, especially for those just being briefed for the first time now.   
Finally Quinn can’t resist. Saul hasn’t mentioned her at all. 

“Where is Carrie in all this?” he asks. “She’s done her job putting together an extraction plan. Shouldn’t she be pulled out before the event?” 

This is standard protocol, pull any non-essential agents to minimize risk of being captured after a major event. Of course, nothing about Carrie is standard, Quinn thinks. 

“She doesn’t see it that way,” Saul replies with a touch of resignation. 

Quinn regards Saul quizzically, wonders if he tried to order Carrie home or if he’s just given up the fight and decided to let Carrie do what she will until the operation is over. Either way it doesn’t bode well. She should not be over there with Brody on the line and no backup. 

Jesus christ, he thinks to himself. When did I become such a fuckin pussy? Quinn’s still just remembering what it’s like to be human and he’s not sure he’s a fan. 

Carrie is a big girl, he tells himself. She’s pulled off more unlikely shit in worse situations - he’s read it in the files, solicited the information from sources before he even met her. But the thought doesn’t appease the swirling in his gut, the dull burn in his chest. 

Come on Brody, don’t fuck this up, Quinn thinks as the meeting ends and everyone disperses. Get it done and bring her home. Bring her home, make her happy, take care of her and the baby. 

He can’t believe this is what he’s thinking on the eve of a crucial operation. But right now he doesn’t give a fuck about Akbari, about Javadi, about peace with Iran. Quinn quickly makes a deal with whatever deities may be listening - bring her home in one piece and he will pay whatever price needs to be paid. 

He is definitely being a big fucking pussy. But he doesn’t give a fuck as long as she makes it home safe.

\-------------------  
0312   
\-------------------

He should not be here. None of them should be watching this, Quinn thinks as they stand around the command centre. Adal and Lockhart are wearing matching smug looks and Saul is notably absent. Technically the now-former director wouldn’t even be allowed entry if he wanted to be there - he is no longer employed by the CIA.

The screens all show just one scene, a large crowd behind a high chain link fence, a crane in the middle of the yard. They are watching the feed from Iranian broadcasting and the Iranian national news service.

The cop car drives by and the cheering begins. Quinn has been trying to spot a flash of blonde in the crowd but of course she would have her head covered. He tries not to let his emotions out of their cage, tries not to think what she must be feeling. 

They march Brody out and all Quinn can think is how fucked up this is. Not that he hasn’t seen executions, most times he’s even been the executioner. But this. They sold him out after he did the deed. Quinn can’t determine if Javadi made the call or Adal and Lockhart. Either way they know exactly what this means to Carrie. But these aren’t guys with feelings. Quinn knows what it’s like to think the mission is everything, he was that guy not that long ago. But now he just thinks of the lives destroyed. 

The room is eerily silent as they watch the noose get put over Brody’s neck. Then the crane starts up and pulls his feet off the ground and Quinn closes his eyes briefly. He doesn’t want to watch this, thinks he feels a headache coming on. It’s probably his feelings fighting their way out, they are getting difficult to contain. After everything Carrie did for them, after what she put herself through to trap Javadi, after talking Brody into the current mission, they are just letting him die in front of her. 

And then he thinks he sees her up on a fence, catches a glimpse under her headscarf. Somehow he just knows it’s her, the way she is clinging there maybe. Quinn tries to communicate through the screen, tell her she did her best, did better than could possibly be expected and she got royally fucked over by her own people. That he’s on her side, whatever that means.

Finally a guard knocks her off the fence and then she’s gone, lost in the darkness. By then Brody’s long gone and there’s nothing left to watch. Quinn stalks out of the room, lets the beasts out of the cage for a moment. He looks for Saul but there’s nothing of him left in his old office. Quinn sits anyways, closes his eyes. Allows himself a minute to fully experience the burn in his chest, thinks whatever she’s feeling half a world away must be an infinite times more. 

God. He has spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about Carrie the past week. Wondering what the fuck she was still doing in Iran when really he knew she would never leave until the mission was over in one way or another. He really is turning into a fucking old maid.

Quinn tries to tell himself he’s not anxious about her return but he knows better than to bullshit a bullshitter. He’s nervous as hell, wants to see her but doesn’t have the slightest clue what to say to her. And she hasn’t even made it out yet. 

This is why the feelings have a fucking cage, Quinn thinks to himself. Too bad it’s way too late to lock them back up. 

\-------------------  
Epilogue  
\-------------------

Quinn wears a big chauffeur’s hat and aviator glasses, holds a piece of cardboard with Carrie’s name on it. A twinge of nervousness sits at the base of his spine as he waits. 

He sees her come out the doors, eyes down and walking fast. She looks a bit overwhelmed, on edge yet deflated, and is going to walk right by him until he steps in her way and puts his sign up to her face. Carrie looks up in complete surprise and raises her hand to push him.

“Shh. Carrie, it’s me,” he says, grabbing her hand in anticipation. “I came to pick you up.” 

Carrie frowns, looks at him suspiciously. 

“How?” she answers. “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming in on this flight. I don’t even think Lockhart knows.” 

“He doesn’t,” Quinn replies. “That’s why Adal’s guys are waiting for you at your place.” 

Carrie closes her eyes. “Fuck,” she says. 

“So just come with me and you won’t have to deal with all that shit. Well at least not right away,” Quinn says. “I’ve got everything covered.” 

Carrie looks at him warily and he can see the frailty behind her eyes. But she doesn’t back down, give up. “You never said how you knew I was on this flight,” she replies. 

Quinn looks at her seriously, leans in close. “I work for the CIA,” he whispers in her ear. 

Carrie almost smiles and doesn’t resist when he guides her towards the exit. He’s parked for a quick getaway and he can see she notices and approves. 

“They work for the CIA too,” she finally says when they are on the road.

“Well, I guess I’m just better than them then,” Quinn replies, not quite believing she had come with him without any fuss. 

Carrie nods, looks out the window, doesn’t reply. 

Quinn tries to watch her without looking, knows he’s probably doing a shit job of it. He lets the silence be for awhile as can’t think of anything say that doesn’t sound inane but after fifteen minutes he feels like he has to say something. 

“Fuck Carrie. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through. What you’re feeling right now,” he says. Even the stupid little fucking feeling chest he opened up in him is kind of killing him. 

Carrie doesn’t turn to look at him but she moves in reaction to his words and he thinks he hears a small sniffle. 

Quinn keeps driving and trying not to watch her but he can see enough of her reflection to know she’s quietly crying and trying to hide it. He doesn’t say anything else, waits for some indication of what she needs, wonders if he is doing the right thing. Because it could be exactly the wrong thing. 

He turns on her favourite jazz station for some background noise, sees her relax just slightly in response to the soulful wailing of Miles Davis’ trumpet.

“Where the fuck are you taking me Quinn?” she finally asks in a low whisper about half an hour later and he knows she’s probably guessed already. They’ve just made the turn off of the I-95 onto a secondary highway and are getting fairly close to their destination. 

Quinn looks over at her, tries to determine if it’s the wrong choice, if she’s about to bolt. But Carrie still just looks small and fragile, her tear-stained face staring out the window. 

“Somewhere quiet,” he replies softly.

She nods against the window, doesn’t challenge him further and Quinn thinks how strange it is without the constant battle. It’s easier but it’s all wrong, not like her at all. 

They pull up at her cabin and she doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move. Quinn is nervous as fuck. It was a risky move and now he senses it was the wrong one, too much too soon. But it’s too late to turn around now and there’s no where else to go other than a hotel and he thinks that would be worse, too impersonal. 

So Quinn gets out, opens the trunk and takes out the supplies he’s brought. He had wanted to be well prepared but now looking at it all Quinn thinks he’s over done it. At least Carrie does not seem to be in any state to judge his excess.

He finds the key in the old stove and lets himself in, knows that she must have it figured all out by now. Carrie still hasn’t moved from the car so he brings in the groceries, the sheets, the travel bag he filled with stuff she might need. When he still hasn’t heard her by the time he’s unpacked the food and made the bed, Quinn is wondering if he can still retract his decision to bring her here, redact it from the record. 

He goes to face the firing squad, finds her still sitting in his car, staring at the cabin. She looks completely withdrawn and doesn’t say anything to him when he opens her door and squats down beside her. 

“Carrie,” he says, taking her hand in his. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” 

Carrie still doesn’t say a word but lets him pull her out of the car and wrap his arm around her. Quinn is pulled back to the time when she escaped from Abu Nazir’s warehouse, realizes that may have been the moment when he began to lose his grip on his emotions. Her shaking frame in his arms, the vulnerable look on her face. There are moments Quinn wants to be the guy to hold her tight, protect her from the world. But he’s not that guy and she’s not that girl. 

He leads her inside, sits her down on the sofa and puts a blanket over her. Carrie is tense but wordless until she’s on the couch then she curls up with the blanket, lays her head down. 

Quinn watches her, tries to figure out what a normal person with proper social relationships would do for her right now. Probably they’d say insipid things like I’m sorry for your loss, things that you don’t say to Carrie Mathison. 

He settles on making some food, really just heating things up and toasting some bread. That is about the extent of his culinary talents, the basics needed for survival. He ponders his next move, how her continued silence alters his plans. 

Quinn pours the soup into bowls, finds a plate for the toast. It feels absurd, very odd. He hasn’t made food for anyone, himself included for eons now. 

Carrie’s eyes are closed when he nudges her shoulder gently. She opens them suddenly, with an expression of terrified sadness. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks. 

Carrie shakes her head and Quinn relaxes just a smidgen. At least she’s responsive, he thinks.

“Look Carrie, I don’t know if it was a good idea to bring you here,” he says. “I just thought it might be a good place for you to be, seeing how you can’t go home right now. If you don’t want to be here I’ll take you somewhere else. If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave you alone. But I need to know you’ll be safe.” 

She turns to look at him, skepticism in her eyes.

“Sure, Quinn. You’d just watch me from across the lake anyhow,” she says. “You may as well stay, it’s creepy when you spy on me.” 

Quinn smirks at that, of course she figured it all out even though she appeared to be almost catatonic. But she doesn’t appear to be upset with him so he sits down on the couch beside her, thinks how thankful he is she’s talking to him. 

“Oh come on, you love it, Carrie,” he replies, trying to keep it light. 

“Yeah sure, you watching me, it’s great. You’re not even that good at it,” she responds, a bit harshly.

Quinn is taken aback, directly wounded. Carrie’s fucking right as usual. He still can’t believe he lost her that night, that he fucked up so badly. He wonders why she hasn’t brought it up until now, if she was just saving it for the right moment. 

He’s still lost in guilt when Carrie kicks him lightly in the side with a socked foot, knocks him out of his thought. 

“Sorry, I know you’re doing your best,” she says contritely. “Thanks for picking me up, Quinn. For looking out for me. Nobody’s perfect, you know. Not even you.” 

Quinn frowns at that, gives her a feigned pissed off look. It’s not something he likes to remember. But right now he’s willing to sit around all day and take insults from Carrie if that’s what she needs. 

She’s even eyeing the food and he nudges it towards her, pretends not to look as she picks up the spoon and has a few bites. 

Later, he finishes her leftovers, washes the dishes and it all feels weirdly intimate, especially fucked up in this place. Her and Brody’s place. 

Quinn hears her go outside to the deck, sees her sit on the stair looking out towards the lake. He stays inside, sits on the sofa and wonders how long they have before Adal figures out Carrie is back and comes looking for them. He wonders what Carrie is thinking, wonders how the job of taking care of her fell to him. Of course Quinn knows he is self-appointed, he just doesn’t like to remember so. But he knows she needs some time, time to process before she’s thrown into potential days of debrief where she will need to relive all she has experienced in Iran. And he knows she needs time to grieve, maybe to talk. Quinn wonders if he should have brought someone else here for Carrie to talk to, maybe her sister. But he’s the only one who knows what she’s been through and she can’t tell anyone else the truth of what happened. So it’s him or nothing, Quinn thinks sardonically. No wonder she’s choosing nothing. 

He wonders how long he should let her sit out there on her own, waits a couple of hours but she doesn’t move. When it’s almost dark he heads out with a blanket and a pillow, puts the pillow down and pats it.   
“Your ass must be sore,” he says. 

Carrie wrinkles her face at him in a half smile, half frown but moves over to sit on the pillow. Quinn puts the blanket over her shoulders, makes sure she is well-covered. 

They sit in companionable silence for a little while, Quinn figuring that Carrie will talk if she wants to talk. It’s pretty much rule number one in the Carrie handbook - Carrie will do what she wants when she wants.

Eventually she tucks her knees up against her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. A tear slips out and then another. 

Quinn is wondering if he should go get some tissues when she wipes her tears on her sleeve and starts to talk. 

“You know, they really got me,” she starts sadly. “There was a minute there I thought it was going to happen, we were going to get our chance.” 

Quinn nods but doesn’t say anything, waits for her to keep going. 

“But it was just a fucking delusion, wasn’t it?” she asks bitterly. “There was no happily ever after for us, nowhere for the world’s most famous ex-terrorist and his crazy ex-CIA girlfriend to run to.” 

Quinn shrugs, looks at her seriously. “No, probably not,” he replies because they both know it’s true. The likelihood of Carrie and Brody having a life together somehow was always absurd. But she is right, for a moment there seemed to be a possibility and that’s probably the hardest part. “But you gave it your best shot, Carrie. You did more than could ever be expected.” 

Carrie exhales sharply. “All for him,” she says. “How fucked up is that? How the fuck did I get so twisted up in him? Sometimes I think this is Nazir, it’s still fucking Nazir pulling the strings from beyond the grave, just to make me crazy, put me over the edge.” 

She starts to tremble a little and Quinn puts his arm around her shoulders. 

“What did you love about him?” he asks, not sure where the question came from.

Carrie gives him a pointed look. “Girlfriends again?” she asks. 

Quinn raises his eyebrows, remembers he was basically asking the same question back then when he first met her, when all he knew was her file and her reputation. He remembers he was pretty rough on her, played the dick-in-charge role well. It was easy to be a dick back then, when all his fucking feelings were neatly tucked away. 

“Well, friends, I hope,” he finally answers. “And I know it wasn’t just the job.”

Carrie sighs, sniffles a bit and leans into him a bit, looking off into the darkness. “I don’t know. He suffered so much but he was still trying to do the right thing. I watched him, I knew everything about him. The fact that he could still care, still love his family, his daughter, maybe even me,” she says, letting silent tears fall. “It was so fucked up you know. It was just the job at first and then it was and it wasn’t. There was something there, maybe it was just my obsession. But it was still there, this thing between us. Like I was put here to meet him, to meet Nazir, to play my part in the middle of this. And I know exactly how that ridiculous that sounds.” 

Quinn thinks it does sound ridiculous but accurate as well. Who’s he to judge anyhow? They certainly looked in love when he watched them, she had looked so content, something he hadn’t even recognized at first. And no one other than Carrie could have put it all together, pulled it all off.

“We don’t get to pick who we love,” he says, only partially realizing he is not just talking about her. 

Carrie starts to cry harder, he can feel the tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt. “I still can’t believe it happened,” she cries into his shirt. “After everything he did, they just fucking gave him up.” 

Quinn pulls her closer, tries not to think about how nicely she fits up against him, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. 

“It was fucked up. It shouldn’t have happened, ” he says quietly. “And you shouldn’t have had to see it happen.” 

Carrie shakes her head against him. “I know how it works, Quinn. I should have seen it coming. And I had to be there.” 

Quinn looks at her, wonders what she would have done if she actually had seen it coming. He feels a twinge of guilt because he’s glad she didn’t or she’d be incommunicado right now, possibly lost forever into the grey world with Brody. 

“You did everything you could do, Carrie. You got him out after the bomb, got him on the mission. You got him through the mission after it was aborted, after he was supposed to be dead. You got him to the safe house,” he tries. “And at least Brody got some form of redemption, he went out in the line of duty and proved you were right about him this whole time.” 

Carrie sniffs. “That’s what Javadi said,” she replies with a little huff. 

He raises his eyebrows. Of course - she has the ability to get so close with everyone, even a fucking monster like Javadi can’t resist her genuineness. 

“Javadi gave you a pep talk?” he asks with incredulity. 

“Yeah well it didn’t make me feel any better,” Carrie replies bitterly. “He kind of killed his chances when he told me Brody was going to be executed at dawn.” 

She’s stopped crying for the moment and Quinn resists the impulse to wipe her leftover tears with his thumb. He’s not sure he’s ever felt that temptation before. He wonders what she would do, thinks it may be worth it regardless. He wonders if she’s going to be alright. 

“How about now?” he asks. 

He feels her shrug against him and he silently renews his vow to watch out for her.

“You know what’s the worst part?” she asks.

Worse than being betrayed by your employers? Quinn thinks to himself. Worse than watching the love of your life publicly hanged?

“Brody wanted it. He didn’t even fight it,” Carrie says quietly. “He was done with it, done trying, he just didn’t give a shit anymore. I told him to come with me and he wouldn’t do it. I guess it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”

Quinn sighs, gives her shoulder a squeeze. “It wasn’t about you, Carrie. Brody was done after Caracas, he lost himself there.” 

Carrie looks at him, gives him a thoughtful look. 

“He’s not the only one,” she finally says, totally stunning him for a moment. She wasn’t even around when the Caracas job happened. And since when did Carrie notice things about him? Even when he says shit to her she seems too wrapped up in her own mind to listen or give a fuck about his feelings. It’s part of the reason he likes talking to her. 

Quinn doesn’t say anything because he has nothing to say. Carrie looks at him, red-faced and raw.

“I should have gone with him. I was going to. But I had to clear him of the bombing,” she says miserably.

“And you did. You did what you needed to do, Carrie. You can’t blame yourself for it. Brody made his own choices, right from the start, ” Quinn replies. “He just didn’t have it in him to keep going.” 

Carrie sighs and turns to look up at him. In the dim moonlight she looks young and fragile, a question in her eyes. 

“So what’s your choice, Quinn?” she asks quietly. “You leaving now too?” 

Of course she asks the hardest question. Quinn can’t believe she’s thinking about him in all this shit. Two weeks ago he probably would have said yes, he was done at the end of the operation. But now there is something else to think of. 

Quinn shakes his head, isn’t sure what to say. “You trying to get rid of me?” he asks to avoid having to answer. 

Carrie shudders under his arm, then starts to shake her head. 

“I know you want out. But please don’t leave, Quinn” she says, and he thinks how almost every moment with her is a surprise. 

Quinn thinks how burnt out he feels, how unsure he is about the CIA. He did his time, he could walk away and cleanse himself. Professionally there is nothing to stay for. But in the end it’s one of the easiest decisions he’s ever made. 

“I won’t,” he says. “Whatever you need, Carrie. Remember?” 

Carrie furrows her brow at him as if it’s not the answer she expected.   
“Promise?” she asks. 

“Yeah. Promise,” he replies into her hair. 

“Thanks, Quinn,” she whispers. 

Quinn pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders and they sit huddled together, not saying anything much until they are both stiff and cold. When all his body heat has finally been used up Quinn realizes Carrie’s fallen asleep against him, her breath creating condensation on his neck. She doesn’t even wake when he picks her up and carries her in, puts her to bed and tucks her in tight. She is absurdly light despite being more than four months pregnant and he wonders how he can make her eat more. These are the kinds of thoughts that have never really occurred to him before, not even with Julia. Emotionally unavailable was what she called him and she was right. Well that wasn’t the problem any more. Fucking feelings - now that they’ve escaped they are running loose, he seems to have no control over them at all. Quinn takes one more look, brushes her remaining tears away with his thumb, resists the urge to plant a kiss on her forehead. 

“Goodnight Carrie,” he mutters. “I missed you. I’m glad you’re back safe.”

\----------

fin.


End file.
